


Batman and Robin

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a 'Nonnie prompt on Tumblr: Through magical means, Dean can feel whatever Sam is doing to himself. Dean's being a jerk, Sam just wants an argument and now that he's got the upperhand? Dean's going to regret that girl in Minden. (Magical) Masturbation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batman and Robin

 

Added to a long list of life’s lessons: never drink anything offered by a suspect voodoo priestess in the heart of the bayou, it’s not going to end well. Or rather, it might end very well but that’s entirely a matter of perspective. Generally , don’t have a domestic in front of anyone who has the juice to meddle in your affairs and most importantly of all, don’t panic. As per previous amendment, Dean Winchester hates witches. Strikethrough, double amendment; Dean Winchester really _really_ hate witches.

+++

Sam was furious. It had been a nonstop fight since leaving for New Orleans and had continued into the deep of swamp country. As usual it was over something stupid, but the problem with being nose to nose every day, every second of the day, was that when the wash-water went sour, you didn’t have time to air the line. Snarking at one another the entire way, they had interviewed a supposed-mystic about some abnormal graveyard activity. Barely able to keep the under-tongue insults to a minimum, they had politely accepted two cups of over-steeped tea and tried not to make it completely obvious that they were ready to kill one another. By the time they’d figured her clean, Dean had already referred to Sam as the Robin to his Batman twice, and snorting at Dean’s haphazard attempt at being charming, Sam had coughed herpes under his breath. Driving back to the motel, they weren’t speaking.

It was hard to tell, but as far as they’d gleamed from: “Aye’n not be sell’n no bad hoodoo, never nuthin’ that ain’t good’n deserved, whoah. Aye’n not be in dealin’ in dem rise’gains! Aye’m dealin’ in de living, but aye don’t charge for that kinda woo-cunja. C’mon up in here and accusin’ miss Marilyn-May ‘n selling some damn gree gree. No spell fo’ that ‘cept one- dem put a big wart on de end of you’re d-” That’s where Dean stopped her.

No zombies, all they needed. Or at least, that’s what Sam thought until the next morning.

+++

“She already checked out, you were there!”

“And I said I was gonna check again, what’s the big deal?” Dean shoved on his boots, “It was a long drive yesterday, and this zombie thing? Smells like bad hoodoo a mile off, maybe we missed something.”

“If you can’t trust my judgement-“

“Jesus Christ, Sammy! This isn’t about your judgement.”

“You know what, Dean? Go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t need to, I’m pretty.”

“Yeah, pretty.” Sam snorted, “Pretty much an asshole.”

Dean was getting angry. “What the hell is your problem tonight?”

“You know, for once I wish you’d just get your head out of your ass and take five seconds to remember that not everybody else is-” Sam sucked in a breath, “You know what, forget it. Go.”

“What, kicking me out now?”

“Dean-“

“No, I get it. Give me a ring if you see any zombies.” He grabbed his jacket and swung it over his shoulders, “Or don’t, whatever.”

“Dean!”

Dean slammed the motel door, heading out under the pretext of re-interviewing a woman for no other reason than he was being a dickhead. Pent-up and grumpy, Sam locked the door and flopped on the bed. It was bad enough that their dysfunction was leaking into cases, but worse that they couldn’t just talk it out and get it over with. Dean didn’t like to talk shop about feelings but if he did, maybe they wouldn’t have spent the night in opposite beds feeling miserable and wishing it would all blow over.

Driving, Dean was distracted. All he could think about was Sam, and trying to ignore his accusatory inner-monologue as it screamed: _what did you do_ , _stupid_ , it was next to impossible to pay attention.

They had been tense for days, weeks if he really thought about it. He had considered asking if there was anything wrong but once you open up that kind of emotive Pandora’s box, you have to deal with what’s inside. As backwards as the logic was, nothing bad could happen if he just ignored it long enough.

Grumpily, Dean made his way back to Shadesway Boulevard and followed the rural detour to an old, crumbling brick house. Parking on the gravel, he knocked on the door but there was no answer. No car in the driveway, no light, and the easiest lock pick of his life later, Dean let himself inside. It looked like no one had lived there for months but they’d been there just the other day! You never trust a witch without seeing her witchery and they had, orbs and trinkets everywhere but now? Nothing.

Except a note left on the counter, two empty cups and a sinking feeling. HAVE FUN, it read.

+++

Back at the motel, Sam was spread wide and naked.

There was no air conditioning, just a mist of sweat breaking over his brow. It was going to be another long, lonely night and as much as he didn’t want to have an argument, he did. Just to say they could have one and the world wouldn’t stop turning, that it would be okay after. Just so that he could accuse Dean of flirting with anything with legs and Dean could make some dickishly convincing case against his jealousy issues. At the end of the day, it wasn’t even about anything so much as _everything_. How many nights were they going to slip into the same old routine, the same bed before someone finally said, so that’s it then? As stupid as it was what Sam wanted most was to know that fighting wasn’t the end.

Relaxing into the scratchy motel coverlet, Sam skated a bored hand across his chest, followed his ribs in twos until he could finger-walk the vee of his hip. Guiltily he wanted some time alone because time together was frustrating. Hard, tip leaking, he dragged a wet, lubed trail from nipple to navel, let his body heat warm it before sliding back for that perfect, too-hard pinch. Dean was a biter and Sam liked the way he still had to suck back a groan when he caught the bud between his nails. Just a tease, take it slow, press against the hickey he sucked in your neck three nights ago. He fucked you raw that night, Sammy. Yeah, fuck. Just like that.

Even angry he never stopped loving, wanting, still needed to be driven home fret and freckles. Dean’s thick cock, puppybelly, beer breath and romance. Smile, grin, toothy and mine. Sam could jack it slow to that puffed-pride smile, but not tonight. No, tonight he sucked a finger into his mouth to keep quiet, couldn’t help but remember that kid-perfect habit. Dean knew why he liked the weight and feel, forced his mouth open when they fucked and raked the salted pads of his fingers across his tongue. Of course he knew, broke him of the habit in fourth grade with a bottle of hot sauce and what used to be brotherly intentions. Wasn’t that just the crux, the way they so guiltily fell together and then some long-lost day neither of them can remember, they weren’t guilty anymore. Love, if they ever had the time.

Sam groaned low and slow, and a half-mile away, Dean was having a problem.

+++

Wracking his brain and trying to figure out what have fun meant, Dean couldn’t ignore the fact that whatever steaming pile of hoodoo he’d probably stepped in, ten dollars said it wasn’t going to end well. Whatever issues he and Sam were having, they would have to wait. Voodoo priestess in the living room with the candlestick and what Dean needed to know was what he had to kill, or at least who. Grabbing the note, he shoved it in his pocket but before he could make it back to the front door, he froze.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his cock. Firm but even pressure, wet-slick and tight. What the hell was going on? He shifted uncomfortably and tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. Invisible fantasy molester, that was a new one. Okay, calm down, don’t make a big deal of it. You’re okay, a little grabby-grabby never killed anyone. At least, in theory. Focus. Likely suspect. Sells cheap charms and cracked spells. Left an ominous note. Death by ghost sex? No. Death by arousal, possible. Death by invisible, undead zombie sex fiend- a little unlikely but not entirely implausible. Shit, calm down. Shit!

The pressure was firmer now, even. This was going to end badly. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. The blunt pressure of a finger swirling, breaching inside wet and slow. So goddamn good, it was- no, not good. Not good! Dean made for the living room and legs wobbly, banged into the doorframe.

There was fuzziness to his thought process, he shouldn’t be as calm, shouldn’t be falling in love with the smooth and even slide. So familiar, so safe. It was bone-deep and it confused in a heady cascade. Felt good, but shouldn’t. Think, relax. Just a few steps, out the front, down the porch steps and almost crippled by the feeling Dean managed the driver’s door and collapsed in the front seat.

+++

Sam lifted his hips, sliding a knuckle against his body, pressing a finger inside. Fuck, not enough stretch on one, barely enough on two. Fisting his cock lazily because he wanted to drag it out, take his time and feel it in shades. First time they’d done it was on the soggy grass in some small-town park, midnight, moon overhead. Not enough lube, even the memory burned. Sam was panting, sweating but the snap-hip rhythm was enough to fuck it shallow, tease. It was always the dialogue that did it, retracing every word, calling himself baby boy because Dean wasn’t around to say it himself. Maybe a kink, maybe just one of those things that topped out a long-run list. _C’mon, Sammy, just like that._

God, he was leaking now, glistening cocktip rosy-red. Hot little hussy begging to no one, two-finger deep and trying for three. _Fuck- fuck, fuck yes!_ One more, you can take it. Sam threw his head back against the pillow, arched into the hard fuck thrill of being absolutely full. Not as good as the real thing but a warm-up gearshift because playing pretend was all in the headspace. A little more lube, sopping wet because it was that kind of night. Sometimes drier, harder, but tonight? Dripping like a whore.

Flying solo, he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t as filthy he was.

 

Dean couldn’t feel his legs. He sank bonelessly into the leather of the Impala and thought about starting the engine, driving, but his thighs were shaking too bad to try it. Sam- they didn’t- never felt that open-wide feeling, didn’t know what to do but lean back, let it rain down. Scared, yeah. Maybe terrified. But somewhere in the sensation, buried deep, it felt familiar. Smelled like Sam, soundlessly his voice, invisibly the width of his hands. _Jesus Christ, Jesus fuck- remember how to breathe, how to think, how to take it deep._ Dean closed his eyes and when he did, he knew. No one touches me like that, baby boy.

And no one touches you like that but me.

+++

Sam was buried face down in the pillow, he’d flipped, ass in the air and cock hung heavy. Finger-fucked and ready but no Dean, no skin on skin. Imagination, just a little more, just a little harder. Fourth finger, barely fits but burns so goddamn pretty. Tug-tug-tug a bastard’s beat and he was coming, slickshot and cream. As he slid against the sheets, Dean was in the Impala remembering how to think, hand come-stained and sticky. Pants unbuttoned, how, when, why all second to the taste of Sam he knew so well. Whatever was going on, he needed to get back to the motel. Now that he could think, all he could think of was how unlikely it was that somebody was handing out free sex no strings. Whatever it was, they were in it deep and he had to get home.

Revving the engine, Dean pealed out of the driveway and at his back, a Cajun smile.

+++

Dean reached the motel in half the time it should have taken and all but burst through the door. Sam was still on his stomach, legs wide and after a panicked grab for the blanket, he swore. “Damnit, Dean! Can’t you knock? Or at least use the key!” In addition to being slightly mortified, Sam didn’t want to pay for the door.

“What were you doing, just now?”

“Shaving. What the hell does it look like I was doing?”

“I felt it.”

“What?” Sam blinked.

“Your- what you-“ Dean made a frustrated gesture, “Fingers.”

“You felt…”

“Yeah.”

Sam snorted, “So what, you hammed up that voodoo woman and now you’re having phantom masturbation envy? That’s actually a new one, even for you. She probably put the whammy on you.”

“She did! She left a friggin’ note on the counter, all gone- everything, the whole kit.” Dean sucked in a breath, “Listen, you and me? Whatever happened earlier we need to just put it away for now and deal with this, before it gets any worse. I feel whatever you feel, that sound like the kind of two for one deal that monsters are always trying to bargain us into to you? This is the kind of shit that gets us dead.”

Sam paused, “Put what away- wait, what?”

“Your whole- this whole- argument thing, okay?”

“Huh, you actually noticed.” Sam snorted again, “Also new.”

“Damnit Sam, focus!”

“So you knew I was pissed, all this time.”

“Of course I knew!” Dean exploded.

Privately, Sam thought it served him right but relented. “Do we know if it’s permanent?”

“I don’t know! But what happens if someone stabs you, huh?”

“Dean can we just-”

“Fine.” He raked his hand down his face, pacing. “If this is about that girl in Minden, or me over-tipping the waitress in Monroe or because I called your hair funny after we left Denny’s last week or-“

“You remember that?” Smouldering under Dean’s glare, he sighed. “Do you want to go back?”

“There’s nothing there!”

“Okay, well- how about this,” Sam pinched his arm. “Did you feel that?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, you try.”

Dean did. “Anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you grab the note?”

“What- oh, yeah.” Dean finished it out of his pocket, “Here.”

Sam took it, scanned the front and because he was entirely more thorough that Dean was, flipped it over. “Did you read the back?”

“There’s a back side?” Dean felt a little stupid, “What does it say?”

“Twenty-four hours.” Sam squinted, it had gotten wrinkled in Dean’s pocket, “And then it says, have fun, Robin. Huh, so that probably means...”

“Oh hell, no.” Dean could already see the cogs in Sam’s head turning. Shouldn’t have mentioned anything, should have checked the backside, should be running for the hills if that smirk meant anything.

“Guess she took my side, _Batman_.”

“Sam-”

“So,” Sam trailed a lazy hand over his belly, “About that girl in Minden...”

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N** : This story frustrated me so much. I don’t write casefic and just ASRTERGDFG. I’m so sorry to the poor ‘Nonnie that waited like… Two weeks for this. Also, Lydia kindly Beta’d but it was rewritten so many times I’m going to safely say (so no blame to her!) ALL MISTAKES ARE MINE.


End file.
